Angel Of Death
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: You may love him, that doens' t change the fact that he can't love you. He's empty inside, there is nothing inside him. He is made to kill, and that is all he does. Kill, kill and empty, like the Angel of Death. Smith, the Angel of Death.


Angel of Death

"Do you feel that?"

He shook his head.

"What about that?"

He shook his head.

"Anything...?"

...He shook his head.

She fell into his arms, trying to make him feel something. He had to feel something, he had to or he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be here with her, still alive if he didn't feel anything. There had to be something...Something that made him choose...Choose to let her live...Choose to see her again and again and again...

There had to be something...

Please let there be something...

She met him when he was trying kill her. But that's really the only way he meets people, the only way he is able to make contact. She watched him kill the people that told her to follow them. Those people that grabbed her by the arm, in those black coats, and ran. She didn't know who they are. She didn't know what was happening. They just...grabbed her.

And in a place she didn't know, a broken run down place, he killed them. He killed them, and they fell to the ground dead, and stained his polished shoes red. And then a phone began to ring, and he shot it too.

And it had to be something, right?

Something that made him lower his gun when it was pointed at her...

Something...That something still there...

That something making him fall to the floor with her, lean on the wall of old memory, and hold her. That something making him try and make it better. That something making him rest his head on hers.

Please, let there be something...

She would watch him, and stare at him, with his vacant face. His expressions empty, waiting to be full. Searching on how to be full. For empty is all he has known. And it is hard learning, when you already know everything that will serve your purpose. It's hard trying to be more than empty, when everyone else that is full are people you hate.

A face full of black and empty shades. A face just waiting for something...Something... She wondered if she wasn't something...

A face that looked as if he had see far too much for far too long. He had seen it all, and still he was empty inside. Too see the rise and fall of the passing versions of the Matrix. To see and never age, immortality, to know and never feel.

A face that looks at you, when it doesn't want to.

Blue eyes blocked from the world, separating him from it all. So he wouldn't be able to see the pain he's caused so many. So he wouldn't see the pain inside him. So he wouldn't see that something that made him hold her.

He should've killed her.

Spared him of these thoughts that held no purpose behind them. Spared her of these tears human eyes made. Her human eyes made. Her brown eyes made.

He should've killed her. That's what he does. That's all he has ever done. That's is all he'll ever do. That is why he is here, that is why he will remain there. Because he kills. He kills and kills and kills until they are all gone. Until the last rebel falls to their knees and dies by his hands.

They he too will be gone.

He doesn't want to be gone, he doesn't want to kill her.

Choice is not a thing for an Agent to know. It is something that was taken from them, and they will never know it. An Agent is fragile, an Agent is easily crumbled. Emotions develop and it is too much, and so they fall from their own selves. And it is choice that begins emotion.

And Smith had already made many choices.

To choose to save her, to take her home, to let her live. To give her the gift of life.

And he chose long ago he would not fall.

He chose not to kill her.

"Why won't you feel anything?" She cried.

And he held her in his arms, stroking her black hair that blended so well with his suit.

He looked out into the walls, empty walls, and beyond them it was raining.

"I feel the rain..." Smith said.

"The rain...?"

"I can...feel it hitting the ground...I can feel it, hitting me..."

He looked at her with that empty face.

"Can't you feel me?" She cried.

He looked at her, as she held his cold limp hands.

"I can feel you..." She wrapped her hands around his.

Soft skin...Untainted, untouched by anything else. Who else could say they held the hand of Agent Smith?

She knew who he was. She knew what he was. And she didn't care. Because she loved him, and wanted so much to give him freedom, to allow him to feel something. But he wouldn't, no matter how hard she tried. No matter how many tears fell, he would just stare at her, and say he's sorry.

Blood of so many on his hands, their deaths on his head. And he didn't care, neither did she. Because he didn't seem like a murderer. He just did it...because that's what he does.

He kills, that's all he can do.

That's why he has an empty face, nothing buy killing.

He told her everything. And she knew, even as he held her he wasn't there, and neither was he. But she didn't care. She didn't want to leave the Matrix, because that would mean leaving him. She could never do that.

She could never leave him now. She would have once, when she had nothing but a chair and a computer in her entire one roomed apartment. Spending night after night hacking and hacking. But that was before. When she had nothing to live for.

He's here now. He's the only thing that matters now.

And he can't even feel her.

"Am I cold? Am I numb? Is that why I can't feel you?" Smith asked her.

She sat next to him, holding his hand.

"You're not cold...You're not warm...You're just...Here." She whispered.

"Am I cold, because I've never smiled. Because I've never known how to smile?"

"You're not cold."

"Am I cold because I know nothing but how to kill?"

"You're not cold!"

"Am I cold because I can't love?"

"Why are you saying these things!?" She cried.

She grabbed around his neck, and laid on his chest, crying into his chest, trying to make him stop. Stop saying there isn't something, something binding them together.

"Because...I don't think I could ever feel you..." Smith whispers.

He looks down at her.

"I know it hurts. I can't feel such a thing, but I recognize it."

She looks away, avoiding those black eyes, those sunglasses.

"Stop it...please stop it..." She said.

"I'm only causing you more pain even now." Smith says.

"Stop it!"

Then he was quiet, and he held her like he had done so many times before. Running from Jones and Brown, running from them without them ever noticing, and run to her. So that she may shed her tears meant for him within his arms. And maybe that makes it a little better.

Just be quiet, and let her cry.

Who knows, maybe he will to sooner or later.

"They're coming for me, I can hear them." Smith says.

The others in suits coming to drag him away from her.

She only grabs him tighter.

"Can't you feel that?" She asks.

Then she looks at him, and stares at him. And slowly takes off the darkness over his eyes, those damn sunglasses. She wanted them gone. She wanted to see the blue behind them.

"Those blue eyes...There's nothing in them?" She asks.

Those blue eyes, so full of what looks so much like emotion. Like sadness, and longing. Like horror, and depression. Desperatly wanting to feel something. Blue eyes, cold blue eyes, asking for help.

"I can't feel you..." Smith says.

Blue eyes showing emotion that does not exist.

"You can't feel this?" She asks, placing her hands on the side of his face.

"No."

"You can't feel this?" She hugs him. Then she looks up at him, those blue sad eyes. Empty and full all at the same time.

"You can't feel this?" She kissed him.

Soft, untainted, untouched lips.

Feel something, let there be something, there is something...Just stop blocking it, feel it, Smith, please...

And as she parts from his lips, he looks down, and she begins to cry.

"I can make this all stop." He tells her, as he wipes her tears. "I can make the pain go away. All of it just go away..."

"Smith..."

"I can't feel anything for you...I'm sorry, I can't...I try, I really do. Do you know the time I've spent thinking of you. So sorry I could never return this love you feel..." Smith said.

"Smith..."

"If I can't give you love, I can at least return yours with making the pain go away..."

"Smith..."

Then he shot her, and made the pain go away.

"I love you..."

Then she died, falling into his arms, where he held her and held her and held her.

He left her there, gently in the corner, she seemed so at peace, as if she were having a happy dream she would never wake up from. Maybe she was.

And Smith walked down the hallways where he would find Jones and Brown. His face still empty of emotion, a void of such a thing. He can't feel that thing. That thing. And he hates the fact he can't feel love.

But that is what he is. Nothing but to kill. Kill to live. Kill, kill, kill. Feel nothing inside, just kill.

Like the Angel of Death, who brings death upon those whose time it is. Like the Angel of Death wearing the black suit like the shadows it comes from. The Angel of Death who feels nothing, and knows nothing, and yet everything. For time seems to move slower with such an Angel, and wears away the soul.

To see so many go on into death, when he stays the same.

The Angel of Death, with black feathered wings.

He is the Angel of Death to many, to bring death to many. This is what he does. This is why he has come to be. To kill, only to kill, and never know. A life created to end so many other lives.

And no matter how hard he tries, he feels nothing after someone dies by his hands. Nothing inside, empty inside.

Only hatred beginning to form.

She told him to feel something.

He's angry, he's sorry, and he wants out.


End file.
